


And Be One Traveler

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: Shortly after leaving the Void, Q gives Kathryn a look at four roads not taken.





	1. Chapter 1

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler…_

Stardate 54687: Captain’s Quarters, Voyager

The chronometer read 0228. She should have been asleep hours ago, but some nights, sleep eluded her. Truth be told, she had been having trouble ever since they had first entered the Void. Almost a year had passed since then, and while she was no longer as depressed as she had been, the self-doubt had never left her. Self-doubt. What a bloodless term for what she felt. Blame. Guilt. Accusation. That was closer.

One of her roommates at the Academy had majored in Earth Literature, which Kathryn had regarded as a waste of time. One class, fine; it helped provide context for history. But a full minor? But lately, she recalled some late night discussions with Gena about the subject of one of her major papers, F. Scott Fitzgerald. There had been one book that Gena felt was wholly underappreciated, “The Crack Up.” Kathryn began trying to read it just after they entered the Void and the nights became far too long. Some nights, it was the only thing that lulled her to sleep. There were parts that struck a little too close to home, though, especially one line – “In the dark night of the soul, it is always 3 a.m.”

With a sigh, she powered down the padd and rested her head on her elbows. Practiced fingers attempted to massage away the throbbing in her forehead. It wasn’t working.

"Headache?" a nearly forgotten voice asked with sympathy so overripe that it was practically dripping.

She straightened immediately and faced the uninvited guest sitting on her sofa. "Q!" she snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I’m hurt, Kathy." His face was a parody of injured feelings. "After all this time, that’s how you greet me?"

She took a moment to compose herself. Dealing with Q required all her wits and all her control. With some effort, she managed a cordial smile. "Sorry. You caught me off guard."

"That’s better," he said. Suddenly she was sitting flush against him on her sofa. "Did you miss me?"

"Not that much." She slid away from him. "Uh – how’s your…" she stopped, stymied by the lack of proper word. Wife? Companion? Better steer away from that. "Baby?" she finally concluded.

He beamed at her - actually, genuinely beamed. "I’m so glad you asked!" Suddenly a picture appeared in his hand. She looked at the typical holophoto of a typical baby, and made the typical "oohing" noises. "Wait," he said, his smile growing. "I have more." With a flick of his wrist, the single photo suddenly elongated into a row of pictures that stretched from his hand to the bulkhead.

She stared. "There must be a thousand of them."

"987," he corrected. "One taken every day of his life. You can really trace his growth and development."

Kathryn looked at the column of pictures, then looked at Q. "You didn’t come here just to show me baby pictures, did you?"

"Well, no." With a sniff, he snapped the pictures back into his hand and then they disappeared. "But would it hurt you to be polite?" He leaned back on the sofa and did not wait for her to respond. "The truth is, I’m worried about you, Kathy. You’ve been indulging in quite a bit of guilt lately."

She rested her head in her hands. "Not you, too."

"Chuckles been after you? How irritating. But in this case, I have to admit, he may have a point. You really need to stop wallowing."

"I am not wallowing!"

"Of course you are." He waved his hand dismissively. "It’s one of your best talents. Didn’t you wallow for weeks after your father and fiancé were killed? As if any of it were your fault."

As always, the mere mention of that accident sent a rod of pure titanium up her spine. "Get to your point, Q. I really ought to get to sleep."

"The point, Kathryn," he said from one end of the sofa, and then he was once again flush against her, speaking softly into her ear, "is that you’re overdoing it. Guilt is fine in its place, but too much stunts your growth."

"Fine." She moved to one of the side chairs. "I’ll keep that in mind."

He tsked her. Tsked her! "Tsk, tsk. I’m here to give you a great gift, Kathy. I’m going to let you see where you would be today – stardate whatever it is – if things had gone differently. If you had made different decisions, or if your faithful and adoring crew had made different decisions. Think of me as the Ghost of Christmas Present."

"So now I’m Scrooge," she grumbled. "Thanks anyway, Q. I don’t see any point to looking at the ‘what if’ scenarios. ‘What if’ never happened. I did what I did, and we’re stuck with it."

Once again he was right beside her, speaking seductively into her ear. "Surely you’d like to know – what would have happened if the slip-stream drive had worked? Where would you be now? You must have thought about it."

"Of course I’ve thought about it," she said irritably. "But –" before she finished the sentence, the room went dark around her, and she suddenly felt dizzy.


	2. Chapter 2

Stardate 54687: Alpha Quadrant, Earth

Time had no meaning. It ebbed and flowed in waves, sometimes compressing so that minutes seemed like seconds, and sometimes stretching so that those same minutes seemed like hours. In some deep recess of her mind, she knew this was because of the drugs they had given her and that was enough explanation.

In her stupor, she relived Voyager coming home again. Triumphant in the success of the slip-stream, they had entered the Alpha quadrant in the middle of the Romulan Neutral Zone, only to learn – to her infinite relief – that the Romulans were currently the allies of the Federation. A Starfleet ship – the Enterprise itself – was actually in the Neutral Zone, flying side by side with warbirds. Jean-Luc Picard welcomed them back, and then required them all to submit to medical examination to be certain they weren’t someone or something called "the Founders" in disguise. Insulting as it was, it forced her to accept a fact she had known for some time: the Federation was at war.

Once confirmed in their identity, Voyager returned home in glory. At least at first. The Federation desperately needed a victory of some kind, any kind - and Voyager’s return fit the bill. She was the darling of Starfleet for a good week and a half, long enough to hope that a happy ending was waiting for everyone.

Despite all her intentions and efforts, events began to careen out of control. First Tom Paris was ordered back to the penal colony pending a hearing. The authorities refused to release him, even to her custody, until the outplacement board could be convened. He spent a week in custody before the Powers That Be determined he had fulfilled his sentence and was free to go. Another week before Starfleet agreed to take him back, with rank.

Then, Chakotay and the rest of the Maquis were tried, found guilty, and sentenced to five more years of "service to the Federation" – unless they preferred imprisonment.

"We’ve been drafted," B’Elanna said grumpily after the trial. "Just so much cannon fodder for this damnable war."

"Cheer up," Chakotay advised her. "At least they honored our rank. You could have been taking orders from Vorik."

The engineer had rolled her eyes and chugged the rest of her cup of wine.

Her crew was home. She had brought them home as she had promised. The problem was, no one had imagined that home would be like this.

It took months for the Board of Inquiry to clear her.

"Wake up, Captain," a strange voice said, and the memories dissolved into an overly bright reality. A nurse she did not recognize was leaning over her, talking at her without ever making eye contact. She watched him through slitted eyes that closed as soon as he moved from her range of vision.

White light. Ball lightning, chain lightning. Boothby’s gardens going up in flames.

It took months for the Board of Inquiry to clear her. The panel had fretted over each of her major decisions, demanding that she explain it, and justify it, and explain it again. She grew impatient with them. "There’s a war on, for god’s sake," she complained to Owen Paris. "Drum me out or clear me and let me get into action."

"It’s not that simple," he replied. He looked old. How could Owen Paris look old? He was supposed to be immortal.

Chain lightning across the green of Starfleet Academy. Sirens wailing.

"Wake up, Captain," a strange voice said. Another nurse she did not recognize hovered over her, silently pointing a medical tricorder at her. She could not move, could not turn her head or raise a hand. Talking seemed to great an effort. She closed her eyes.

Ball lightning. Sirens wailing. Running, running.

"Congratulations, Captain," Admiral di Rossa said warmly, extending her hand. "It was quite a feat. Don’t be too angry that we took so long."

"I expected nothing less," Tuvok said to her. "I am glad for you, Captain. Now I must return to Vulcan."

She nodded. "I know. I had hoped you would stay – Voyager should be back in action in three months or so."

"If it were not for the threat to my home world, I would stay. But Vulcan is in danger, and I must be there to help defend it against the Dominion."

"Yes, you must," she agreed. “Thank you for protecting Seven.” Some of the researcher types at Starfleet had seemed to be more interested in dissecting Seven than interviewing her. Rumors abounded that they hope to “reverse engineer” her and find ways to augment Federation soldiers with Borg-like components. Tuvok took steps to legally adopt Seven and grant her Vulcan citizenship, which made it able for her to refuse her cooperation. Now she was going with him to her new home planet. "And you deserve time with T’Pel and your family. I’m only sorry you’ve been kept from them for so long. Goodbye, my dear friend."

The scene in her mind melted, reformed. A restaurant by water. Candles. Champagne. "I hear you’re in the market for a first officer," Chakotay said. "I know one who’s available." Moonlight on the bay.

“Yes, but –“ she had hesitated. “I was wondering if there were any other relationships worth exploring?”

Then they were running. Sirens. Planetary defense sirens. How could that be? Earth has never been attacked.

Ball lightning. Chain lighting. White light.

Darkness.

"Wake up, Captain," a strange voice said. A Bolian nurse she did not recognize was leaning over the bed.

"The next person who says that to me," she said slowly, "will find out how the Hirogen prepare their dinner." Her mouth was parched, and her voice sounded scratchy and odd.

"Feeling better, then?" a familiar voice – at last! said, and she tried to look towards its source. Her head still wouldn’t move.

"Chakotay," she said, her eyes searching frantically. "Is that you?"

He came to stand beside her bed. "It’s me. How are you?"

She considered for a moment, realized that she was in some kind of biochamber. "I’m not sure. I can’t feel anything, can’t move. Thirsty."

For a moment he disappeared from her line of sight, then returned with a glass that had a bent tube in it. He carefully positioned the tube at her lips and she sucked the water gratefully. It felt cool and wonderful on her throat. He lips and mouth felt strange, though. "Thanks. What happened?"

He looked away, on the pretext of handing the glass back to the nurse, but she saw it. His expression set into the one he used to hide his true feelings. They knew each other so well after all these years. Whatever it was, it was bad. "How much do you remember?"

"Not much. We – we were at the Academy, I think."

"That’s right. We had just finished the lecture and were out in the grounds, looking for Boothby." He glanced at the nurse, then laid a hand on the biochamber. "The Breen attacked. They’ve joined the Dominion in the war."

"I remember," she said slowly. "The sirens, running. Ball lightning."

"Plasma bombs."

"My god," she breathed. It was unthinkable. Since the first days of interstellar contact, Earth had never been attacked by another world. "How bad?"

"It could have been worse," he said. "They only hit San Francisco. HQ is in bad shape, and they took out the Golden Gate Bridge. And," his jaw clenched and eyes darkened, "they managed to get you."

"My lucky day." She refocused on him. "Voyager? The crew?"

"All okay. They didn’t bother with the shipyards or spacedock. Intelligence thinks this was mostly for shock value."

She couldn’t stop the sigh of relief. "All right, then. Let’s have the rest of it. What am I doing in this thing?"

The nurse spoke up helpfully. "It’s a regeneration chamber."

Flat on her back, encased in titanium and isochips, she still managed the Death Stare. The nurse backed off nervously.

"You were badly burned," Chakotay told her. His face told her more.

"How badly?"

"Very. You need to regenerate nearly your entire epidermis. You are lucky to be alive."

She considered his words. It made sense; if she had been badly burned they would keep her drugged until the regeneration was almost complete. Maybe even a neural block, if the damage was severe. The rehab would be painful. She had been through it before, and remembered the pain of overly sensitive skin and taut muscles only too well. She was about to tell him this when she realized that his face was too still, too controlled. He had more to tell her, but didn’t know how. "Out with it, Commander," she said. "The rest of it."

Chakotay hesitated only momentarily. "You were burned on over 90% of your body."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "My…my face?"

He nodded. "You can’t feel it, but you are coated with regen gel. The doctors say you’ll be fine, as good as new, but it is going to take some time."

Part of her wanted to scream for a mirror. Her hair? Her eyebrows? Eyelashes, for god’s sake. Another part advised her, very rationally, that a mirror was not a good idea at the moment. Thank god for his eyes. She had always seen herself reflected in his eyes, and that reflection was still beautiful.

He had always seen her with his soul first, then his senses. The thought made her chuckle internally. She had not believed in such things as souls until she knew him, but he had expanded her thinking to include more than could be proven in science.

"Kathryn," he said in a tone that told her he was about to say something very serious. "There’s something else we need to talk about." He looked over to the nurse. "Leave us."

"Sir, I" –

"Leave us," he repeated. "We have to discuss matters of Federation security."

Kathryn didn’t see the nurse leave, but heard her say stiffly, "You have about three minutes, sir. Then the sedative will take effect again," and then the door swished open and closed. "What is it?"

"I’ve got orders to take Voyager out in two weeks. They say you won’t be ready by then. I told them they’re wrong." He smiled, and she knew he meant every word. For the first time, she noticed he was wearing four pips. He'd been promoted.

"Two weeks." In two weeks, she would be lobster pink and, if she was ambulatory at all, moving stiffly and painfully. She also knew that her ship was not going into battle without her.

He began to speak rapidly. "They’re re-fitting Voyager’s weapons and installing the slip-stream drive in two other ships. We’re to go to the Gamma quadrant and find the Founder’s world. We’re going to bring an end to this war."

"How? They won’t surrender."

"I hope not," he said, his eyes dark.

Silence hung between them for a moment as the implication of his statement sunk in. "Genocide," she finally said, without emotion.

His face was dark with suppressed fury. "They brought it on themselves. They’re the ones who started this war. They did this to you. If they won’t surrender we have no choice but to destroy them."

Her heart turned over. The inner peace he had found was shattered, it seemed. The anger that had consumed him in the Maquis and later, with the Vori, had returned. "No," she whispered. "Be their enemy, but don’t hate them, Chakotay. Don’t hate them on my account."

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Finally, he said, "Then come back to me. Come back to us."

"I will," she promised. She wanted to reach for him, just to touch him. Just to feel the warmth of him. It was something that had always steadied them both. She settle for smiling at him lopsidedly. "So much for Lake George. I really wanted to show it to you." They had been on the brink of so much before the Breen disrupted their lives.

"There’s time," he told her. "For you and me, Kathryn, there will always be time."

There was more to be said, but she felt her strength fading and knew she could not keep her eyes open much longer. The drugs were kicking in again. "Get my ship into fighting shape, Captain," she said, as firmly as she could manage. "I’ll join you in two weeks."

Her eyes were closed when she felt the whisper of breath next to her ear. "Goodbye, Kathryn," he breathed.

Goodbye, she thought, unable to say it out loud. Take care. Take care. Then the darkness came back, claimed her.


	3. Chapter 3

Stardate 54687: Captain’s Quarters, Voyager

Dizziness, and then she was in her quarters again, sitting at her table. Q was opposite her, looking at her with undisguised curiosity. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

"Oh, my god," she said. "Was that all true? Was Earth attacked by the Breen?"

He shrugged. "In that timeline. There’s so many, it’s hard to keep track."

"Q," she began in her best command voice, but then she seemed to deflate. "We should be there."

"Spoken like a true daughter of Starfleet," he said sarcastically. "Why do you think your presence there is more important than your presence here? Are you the glorious hero who will single-handedly turn the tide of the war?"

She frowned. "No, of course not. But it’s my duty to be there, to defend the Federation against its enemies."

He studied her for a long moment. "Perhaps it’s just as well that you won’t actually remember any of this."

Kathryn stared at him. "I won’t remember? Then what’s the point? Why don’t you go away and let me get some sleep?"

"Kathy, Kathy, Kathy," he shook his head. "You won’t remember the details, just the general sense of things. Rather like a dream that nags at you for days."

She threw her arms back. "All right, Q. What’s next? What would have happened if the Borg assimilated me?"

"Close," he said, smiling evilly. "Where would you be if you had listened to Chuckles and not made a deal with the Borg?"

Before she could say anything, the darkness descended on the room again.

Stardate 54687: Kinrath Colony, Delta Quadrant

The light woke her, and she opened her eyes to see the pink rays creep in along the edge of the window curtains. Even though they had been here two years, she loved watching the sunrises on this planet. After an adult life spent almost entirely on starships, sunrises were a treat.

They had been so lucky. When she agreed with Chakotay and made the decision to turn back and avoid the war between the Borg and Species 8472, she had feared they would never find peace in the Delta quadrant. Instead, Kes – irrevocably altered from her brief telepathic contact with Species 8472 – had thrown them 10,000 light years toward safety.

That gift saved them from the deadly conflict but created huge damage to the ship. Even in the Alpha quadrant, it would have required at least six months in Spacedock to make the repairs; in the Delta quadrant, repairs seemed a distant dream. B’Elanna and her team put the ship back together with the proverbial duct tape but the best they could manage was Warp 3, and only for a few hours at a time. The length of the journey home suddenly increased beyond Kathryn’s likely lifetime.

Just when the reality of the situation was setting in, they encountered the Parenari-Garnex League, which proved to be that rarest of commodities in the Delta quadrant – a friendly civilization with limited warp capability. The League welcomed Voyager and provided such repairs and refits as within their power. After eight months, Voyager was again as spaceworthy as she ever could be again, but warp 3 remained the maximum attainable speed. They had to face the fact that the journey home was again measured in decades, not years.

The League realized this as well, and offered the ship and crew the opportunity to join them and help populate a new colony. At first, Kathryn had resisted. She had promised to get her crew home and she had no intention of reneging on that. But the crew felt differently. Knowing the likely length of the journey, they weren’t sure anyone or anything would be left when they returned. They were tired and battle weary, and they wanted to settle into something like normalcy.

As Kathryn listened to them, she realized that her need to return was more about assuaging her own guilt than anything else. She issued an order, releasing anyone who wanted to remain with the League from service to Voyager, and allowing anyone who wanted to return to stay on Voyager. In the end, only three people remained on the ship: herself, Chakotay and Tuvok. Understanding the impossibility of situation, she had reluctantly become a colonist.

The decision changed many things in her life.

Stretching carefully, Kathryn smiled. Two years ago, she had been filled with despair and fear. What a difference two years had made. Still smiling, she let herself drift back to sleep.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," a familiar voice whispered in her ear sometime later. Kathryn did not open her eyes. Instead she just snuggled closer to the body spooned behind her.

Feathery trails of warm breath traced behind her ear and down her neck. When it reached her shoulder, she sighed, and rolled to her back. Dark eyes, alive with mischief, greeted her. "It seems to me," she said, "that you were up just as late as I was. Why aren’t you tired?"

"Because," he said with a smile, "this is my first morning as a father-to-be, and I want to savor it."

If he was going to get sentimental again she would cry. She cried much too easily these days. Keeping it light, she reminded him, "Technically, you’ve been a father-to be-for 43 days."

He shook his head. "Doesn’t count. I didn’t know until now." He laid his hand on her still-flat belly. "I still can’t believe it, Kathryn."

He’s so happy, she thought, and so am I. And I never expected to be.

"Hey. Where did you go?"

She smiled, and touched his chest. "I was thinking how happy I am, and how much I love you."

His expression softened. "I love you, Kathryn," he said, as if it were the first time, or a vow. She turned to embrace him as he kissed her. They made love without urgency, as if they had all the time in the world.

They rolled out of bed later, and trundled downstairs in robes and bare feet. "Let’s have breakfast on the deck," she suggested.

"That’s the point of vacation," he reminded her.

She sipped her coffee looking out at the still green water of the lake. Other than its crystalline emerald color, it could have been any of a hundred lakes on Earth. This place gave her a sense of peace.

A sense of peace that was disturbed by the insistent beep of the comm unit. They exchanged exasperated looks. "I’ll get it," she said. "And it darn well better be important."

She sat at the small desk in the kitchen and flicked on the comm unit. The screen showed the face of a troubled man. Two years ago, she would not have been able to make that distinction; the Garnexi always looked dour. They were very Human in appearance, but much taller and thinner, as if they had been stretched and the experience was painful. (When they first met them, Tom Paris said they looked like refugees from an Evard Munch painting.) Looking at the yellow eyes of the man, though, she knew something was wrong. The eyes of the Garnexi took on a distinctly greenish cast when they were upset. "Governor Kyrvanin," she said formally. "To what do I owe the honor of your call?"

From the deck, Chakotay looked up, and came to stand behind her. "I’m sorry to disturb you on your vacation, Captain, Commander," Kyrvanin replied with typical Garnexi courtesy. "However, it is necessary. I am calling an emergency meeting of the Colonial Council. Can you be here in an hour’s time?"

"Of course," she said without hesitation. "What’s happened?"

"The danger of which you warned us has come to pass. The League is under attack."

"The Borg?" Chakotay asked.

Kyrvanin lifted his left shoulder, the Garnexi equivalent of shaking his head. "The other."

Kathryn felt the color drain from her face. Species 8472. "How much time do we have?" she asked.

"Two days, at most," Kyrvanin said. "The Administrator is conducting a League-wide conference in an hour. Captain, we have been preparing for this as you advised, but your leadership will be needed." "We’ll be there," she said, and the view screen went dark.

She looked up at Chakotay. He looked as stunned as she felt. "I thought we had more time," he said. "I thought we were far enough away."

So did I. But there was no time for anything but defense preparations. "Who’s off-planet?" she asked briskly.

"Tuvok and Neelix are at the Trade meetings on Praenari Prime," he answered from memory. "Ayala and Gennaro made the supply run to Terce – they should have been back last night. Jenkins and Golwat were handling the Kessel run, I’ll have to check on their status."

She turned back to the comm unit and hailed Voyager. Tom Paris, looking quite comfortable in the big chair, responded. "Checking up on us, Captain?" he asked, smiling. "I thought you were supposed to be on vacation."

"Not any more. Go to yellow alert, Tom. We need battle readiness in two hours." His smile vanished and he straightened his shoulders, but he did not interrupt her. "The Commander and I will be briefed in Council Chambers in an hour. We’ll brief the senior staff immediately after that. In the meantime, see that the Big Berthas are loaded and armed."

His eyes widened at that. "Big Bertha" was the nickname he had given to the first of the massive nanoprobe torpedoes they had developed, and it stuck. He now knew exactly what the threat was. "Yes, ma’am," he said, his eyes meeting hers over the comm link.

Chakotay added, "Tell the Doctor and Harry we’ll need a status report at the meeting. And see if you can reach our people who are off planet, especially Jenkins and Golwat."

They dressed quickly, threw a few things into a duffel and were on their way to Ithaca in fifteen minutes. The Garnexi who shared the planet with them had agreed to let Voyager’s crew choose the name of the only large settlement on the continent. Harry Kim had suggested Ithaca, the home of the voyagers of ancient Greek legend. During the 40 minute land shuttle trip, they slipped easily into their command routine, discussing the strategies and tactics of a war with Species 8472. They had been planning this for two years, but now their theories would be put to the ultimate test.

The Chambers of the Colonial Council constituted the most elaborate structure on the planet. Although of Garnexi design, it reminded the Humans of the Parthenon – if the Parthenon had been constructed from emerald and sapphire. It was built from blocks and columns of crystal stone, highly polished and carefully shaped. Depending on the time of day and angle of the sunlight, the walls could be nearly transparent blue or green or opaque, and the corner pieces refracted small rainbows. This was the administrative center of the colony, housing the entire planetary government, such as it was.

They hurried into the conference room and took their place at the table. Governor Kyrvanin sat at the curve of the horseshoe-shape, with the three Garnexi representatives, Melonin, Jordatha and Lide sitting to one side. Janeway and Chakotay took their places to the Governor’s left; the third seat belonged to Tuvok. "Thank you for coming so promptly," Governor Kyrvanin said.

Touching a control on the table in front of him, the wall behind him suddenly turned into a comm screen. The Principal of the League, an elderly man who normally radiated vigor, looked tired and worried. "I see we are all here," he said. The screen split six ways, showing the Councils from Praenari Terce, Quarte and Quint, as well as the Garnexi worlds of Kessel and Kimmel. "The news is very bad. We believe Praenari Prime has been destroyed and we cannot determine the status of Secundus." There were gasps from six worlds. "Captain Janeway," the Principal continued, "it appears that your warning about Species 8472 has come to fruition."

"Are you certain, Principal?" she asked.

"This is the last message we received from Prime, about an hour ago." The split screen suddenly returned to one large image, that of the Administrator of Praenari Prime. Janeway knew the man; he had a penchant for bad jokes and good beer. His expression was somber. "Priority message for all League Worlds. Attack on Praenari Prime is imminent. The attacker has been positively identified as Species 8472 by Councilor Tuvok of Kinrath colony. We had insufficient warning to fully arm the nanoprobe defenses and anticipate only a brief defensive effort. Evacuations have begun. Prepare yourselves. Arm yourselves. Do not try to assist us; our cause is lost. You must save the rest of our culture."

In the stunned silence, Janeway told herself that Tuvok and Neelix were likely safe, that they were among the evacuees. The screen split again, and the Principal said, "Headquarters can no longer locate Prime on long range sensors. Secundus is not responding to communication efforts." He turned toward Janeway and Chakotay. "Captain, you warned us of this danger from our first meeting. It is thanks to you that we have any defense at all. Now we must look to you to lead us. The combined fleet of the Praenari-Garnex League is hereby placed at your command."

Kathryn drew a measured breath. Although unplanned, this was not entirely unexpected. Still, the responsibility was overwhelming. "We’ll do all we can," she said, and then, with Chakotay’s help, began outlining the defense of the remaining League worlds.

Eighty minutes later, she was doing the same thing in Voyager’s conference room with her senior staff. Ayala was sitting in for Tuvok but otherwise everyone was there. She received the necessary reports, reviewed the battle plans, and then looked around the table. "We have been planning for this day for two years," she said at last. "We know what is at stake, and what we have to do. There is no doubt in my mind that we can prevail." With a small smile, she nodded once. "All right, people. We have a rendezvous in six hours. Let’s be on time."

As the staff was filing out, Janeway called, "B’Elanna."

The engineer stopped and turned around. "Yes, Captain?"

"I know how hard this is for you," she said gently. "Owen is safer on the planet than with us."

"I know," B’Elanna answered quietly. "It’s just that he’s so little, and I’ve never been away from him…" She straightened her shoulders. With a forced smile, she said, "All the more reason to kick ass and get home."

Ordinarily, Janeway did not tolerate such language on the bridge. She decided to make an exception in this case. With a nod, she sent B’Elanna off.

Chakotay was still sitting at the conference table, looking at her with troubled eyes. "You always knew it would come to this," he said quietly. "I was so sure we would have years, maybe decades, to get ready. Now I can’t help but wonder if you were right after all, and we should have made our stand two years ago."

She sat beside him. "Don’t do that. We made a decision, and there’s no second guessing it now. And we have been getting ready. Two years ago, we had barely three million nanoprobes. Today, the League has more than thirty billion. We’ve got a better chance now, and this time it’s not just Voyager fighting. We’ve got allies."

He nodded slowly, and rose. “All right. Let’s get to it.”

She stood as well. “See you on the bridge.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stardate 54687: Captain’s Quarters, USS Voyager

She was in her quarters again. "Q!" she shouted. "What happened next? Did they defeat species 8472?"

He was actually sitting on her bed, waving a finger at her. "Ah, ah, Kathy. Remember the rules. The battle doesn’t begin today, and today is all we are looking at." Words that she had not used since her days as a midshipman caught in her throat. He laughed a little. "Well, tell me this. You’ve encountered Species 8472 twice now. Do you think your intrepid little League could defeat them without the help of the Borg?"

That caught her up short. No Seven, no Borg assistance. No way of knowing what defenses or weapons the 8472s might have developed fighting the Borg. Suddenly she did not feel optimistic about the League’s chances.

Q watched her think it over as he walked toward her. "That wasn’t such a bad life, was it?"

Well, no, she admitted to herself. It didn’t seem bad at all. Tom and B’Elanna apparently had a baby; the colony seemed to be thriving. If they won the fight against the 8472s, it could have a happy ending. If not, it would have an abrupt ending.

"You and Chuckles certainly seemed happy enough," Q added.

She felt a blush begin at the base of her neck and rush up her face. "You had no right to watch that."

A knowing smile spread across his face. "Perhaps not. But it was fun, wasn’t it? You haven’t had much lately, have you? Fun, I mean."

His sly gibe hit its target unerringly. "That is none of your business." Then she added thoughtfully, "It does look like Chakotay was right, though. We might have been better off if we had decided to avoid the confrontation with the Borg."

"Perhaps," Q said. "Or perhaps it was just a pleasant little interlude before the inevitable destruction. But did you notice, Kathy, that you didn’t waste any time pondering the past?"

"What good are our mistakes if we don’t learn from them?" she asked.

"Ah, but how can you know whether your actions really are a mistake?" He sighed dramatically. "I had this discussion with Jean-Luc once. You Humans are so limited in your perceptions, you just can’t see the big picture. You’ve shown glimmers now and again, but lately, Kathryn, your focus has narrowed."

This was becoming exhausting. All she wanted was to be done with him. "What next, Q?" she asked wearily.

Eyes fixed on hers and narrowed. "A little place you called New Earth," he said.

"No!" she said, almost panicked at the thought. Her memories of New Earth were too dear, her fantasies of what might have been too important.

Almost sadly, he said, "Yes. What if your friend Tuvok had obeyed your orders and not contacted the Vidiians for a cure? Where would you be today?"

Stardate 54687: Delta Quadrant, New Earth

The sunlight woke her up, but she did not open her eyes. It seemed too much trouble to try. She breathed in the peaty smell around her, took in the feeling of damp and grit beneath her. She’d done it again. For the –what? fourth? fifth? – night in a row, she’d left the bed sometime during the night and flung herself on the grave. She didn’t actually remember it, but she was getting used to that. The last month was already blurring in her mind.

The dull throb in her thigh finally motivated her to open her eyes and look up. It was going to be another beautiful day. She stood with difficulty; the left leg was unwilling to carry its fair share of the load. Not bothering to brush herself off, she limped back into the shelter. Several dishes, crusting with uneaten food, were stacked messily on the table. Several more were in pieces on the floor. She wondered if she had done that, or if the simian had gotten inside. It didn’t matter. She considered making a cup of coffee, but the thought aroused no interest. The best thing to do, she decided, was to go back to bed.

The bed was unmade, the sheets turned aside and dragging on the floor. She laid on her side, curled into a tight fetal position and closed her eyes. Within moments, she was asleep. For once, she did not dream about the accident. Instead, she dreamt about him – nothing coherent, just images – working in the fields, paddling on the river, making love, eating dinner. Sleeping beside her. Laughing with her.

This time, she woke because someone was shaking her. "Captain Janeway!" the woman’s voice said urgently. "Captain Janeway, wake up!

Kathryn struggled back to awareness. No one called her Captain anymore. Who was this? She opened her eyes and found a woman hovering over her. Pretty, not human…familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to her. Her thoughts seemed sluggish.

"I’m Denara Pel," the woman said, "Do you remember me? I was on Voyager about three years ago."

Three years. Voyager. "Vidiian," she recalled groggily. She remembered something else, too. "Phage," she said, more confused than frightened. This woman showed no signs of the plague.

The woman smiled reassuringly. "We found a cure. Or rather, we bought one. You don’t need to fear us, Captain."

Kathryn almost smiled. Fear them? Not now.

"You’re very ill," Denara Pel went on. "You have a serious infection in your leg and your temperature is dangerously high. I want to take you back to my ship. Are you alone?"

"Alone," Kathryn repeated listlessly. "Can’t leave. Virus."

A look of understanding washed over Denara’s face. "Ah, that explains it then. We can fix that, too, Captain. Just relax. I’m going to take care of you."

Kathryn felt confused, but did as she was told. It was too much effort to do anything else.

Denara Pel left, and came back, and left again. It was all pretty hazy in Kathryn’s mind. It was easier if she just went to sleep again.

This time when she woke, it was with a start. Her head felt clearer than it had since the accident, and she was acutely aware of the pain in her thigh. The pain was different that it had been, though. The feeling of flames streaking through muscles had given way to a dull ache. She sat up and saw a stranger sitting in a chair beside the bed. No, not a stranger. "Dr. Pel?" she asked, uncertain of her memories.

The Vidiian woman smiled. "Good, you do remember me. How are you feeling, Captain?"

Kathryn considered for a moment. "Much better, I think. What happened?"

"I found you here. You had a laceration on your leg that was badly infected. You were dehydrated and showing signs of exposure and malnutrition." She hesitated, then added, "There was also a significant chemical imbalance in your brain, indicative of depression."

Depression. _That would be one word for it_ , she thought. She took a peek at her leg and saw that the laceration had been neatly healed, and there was no sign of the ugly red streaks that had snaked around her thigh. "Nice work," she commented. "Thank you."

"I did more than stop the infection, Captain," Dr. Pel said. "I cured you of the virus that trapped you here in the first place. I also corrected the chemical imbalance."

Kathryn considered her words. The lassitude that had become second nature was gone. She was actually hungry, now that she thought about it. The grief was still there, but manageable - under control. "You have a cure for the virus?" she asked, not willing to dwell on the other yet.

"Yes," Dr. Pel said. "We’ve known about this planet for some time."

"I wish you’d come a month ago," Kathryn said, and was astonished when her eyes misted with tears. She had not cried about it, not a tear since the accident.

Denara Pel looked at her closely. "So do I," she said with compassion. "You weren’t always alone here, were you?"

Kathryn shook her head, but said nothing. There was a lump in her throat and she knew that if she tried to talk about it, she would begin to sob. Dr. Pel said gently, "I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you get cleaned up, and we’ll have something to eat. We can talk then."

That sounded like a very good plan. She headed for the sonic shower, briefly horrified when she caught a glimpse of her reflection. It dawned on her then she could not remember the last time she had showered, and decided not to risk the mirror again until she was at least not filthy. After she was clean she put on a simple dress and braided her hair. Checking the results, she decided that she was still far from her best but at least she no longer looked like a scarecrow.

The Vidiian physician was waiting at the table, which had been cleared. Instead of the stack of dirty dishes, Denara was waiting with two steaming bowls. "Chicken soup," she said. "I remember that Schmullis – your Doctor – told me that it was good for most Human ailments."

Kathryn sat and smelled the aroma of the chicken broth. "He was right," she said, and picked up the spoon. The warm soup traced a path all the way to her stomach, telling her just how long it had been since she had eaten.

"So," Denara said between sips. "How did you wind up here?"

"We were exploring this place about three years ago, not long after you left the ship," Kathryn said carefully. "It looked like a paradise. But then we were bitten by that insect, and when we returned to the ship, the virus struck. The Doctor was unable to do anything for us; even stasis didn’t work. They left us here and went on." She looked up. "I don’t suppose you know how Voyager is doing?"

"I know they made it to the Necrit Expanse," Denara said. "That’s an area of space about 6,000 light years from here. We don’t have good communications beyond that point."

"I see," Kathryn nodded.

After a brief hesitation, Denara asked gently, "Who else was here with you?"

She took a moment before answering. "Chakotay," she said, and her voice wavered despite her efforts. She knew she needed to say this, but she had to say it quickly, before emotions overwhelmed her. "He was killed in an accident last month. We were trying to clear away some of the deadfall from our grain field. There was a tree we didn’t realize had been damaged. It fell on us." She stopped for a moment, her eyes unfocused. "One of the branches pierced him like a spear. Another trapped me until I managed to dig out from under. It was too late. He bled to death." Her face spasmed as tears threatened to fall. She fought them back. She was, after all, Kathryn Janeway, and she did not cry.

Denara set her spoon down. "I’m so sorry." Her dark eyes were warm with sympathy. "You must have been very close."

 _Close? How inadequate a word._ "Yes," she said quietly, lowering her eyes and willing herself to be calm.

The Vidiian physician recognized the internal struggle and sat quietly for several minutes, finishing her soup. Finally, when she judged that Kathryn had recovered sufficiently, she said, "Captain –"

"Call me Kathryn," she interrupted. "I’m not captain of anything any more."

"Kathryn," Denara began again with a smile. "I would like you to come with me. You can’t stay here, but you would be very welcome on my homeworld. It’s a much different place now that the phage has been cured."

She shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but if I can’t catch up with Voyager, I’d rather stay here. I’ll be all right."

"No. You won’t be. After three years, I’m sure you’ve noticed the intensity of the storms during the summer months."

She actually chuckled. "Yes, we noticed."

"Well, this planet has a predictable cycle in its climate. Every twenty-five years, the intensity and frequency of the storms quadruple. This is the year for it. By autumn, nothing organic will be left except the seeds that have been driven into the soil. That’s why we are here, to catalog the flora and fauna, and to evacuate anyone who might be here."

Kathryn stared at her, unable to believe what she was hearing. "We’ve been through the storms. This shelter was designed to withstand just about anything. And we hid once in the caves by the river – I could go there."

Denara shook her head. "It wouldn’t work," she said. "The caves will be flooded, and this shelter will not withstand a single level 12 storm, let alone a whole season of them."

 _Leave here. I have to leave here._ She set down the spoon and leaned back in the chair. "I’ve become so accustomed to the idea that I would be here the rest of my life, it’s hard to think about what leaving means. This has become home."

“Do you want to die here?” Denara asked gently. “Because you surely will.”

Just hours ago, death had seemed like an attractive prospect. Now, though, Kathryn was a little surprised to realize that she actually preferred living. “No,” she said slowly. “No.”

Denara helped her pack her clothes and, with other Vidiians from her ship, load the shuttle with as much of her equipment and belongings as she could manage. She took several wood and stone carvings Chakotay had done, as well as her favorite of his sand paintings. Her sketches were packed, and about a dozen jars of stewed Talaxian tomatoes.

As they carried the last of the crates to the shuttle, the little simian came running out of the woods and attached itself to Kathryn’s leg. Denara looked astonished. "That’s a mesayok!" she exclaimed. "We thought they were wiped out in the last storm cycle."

"As far as I know, she’s the only one," Kathryn said. She pulled it into her arms and it clung to her like a child. Over the past three years, the creature had become quite tame, and was more like a domestic pet than a wild animal. Apart from an unfortunate habit of throwing her food and dishes, she was completely housebroken. "I better take her with me. If I wouldn’t survive, then she certainly won’t."

Denara agreed, and asked her once again to come with them to Vidii. "As long as I’m leaving, I’m going to try to find Voyager," Kathryn told her.

"It will be sheer luck if you do," Denara said bluntly. "You are three years behind them, and your shuttle can’t travel as fast as a starship."

"Perhaps not, but I have to try. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to hitch a ride or two along the way."

Denara Pel knew when argument was fruitless, and shook her head. "If anyone can do it, Kathryn, I suspect it’s you. But if you change your mind, contact me."

The two women said their goodbyes and Kathryn returned to the shuttle to run the pre-launch check. There wasn’t much time; the first storm was already beginning to form. When everything was ready for take-off, Kathryn opened the hatch and walked over to Chakotay’s grave. Sitting beside it, she rested one hand on the mound of earth. "I have to leave," she said aloud. "Dr. Pel says this place is about to be flattened by storms and I won’t survive. A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have minded, but now…Voyager’s out there, somewhere. I’m sure of it. I have to try to find them. Your body is here, but is your spirit stuck here too? This would be a whole lot easier if you were coming with me."

Then she felt it. A sense of peace, a comforting presence that she recognized immediately. Dr. Pel might tell her she was still suffering from a chemical imbalance, but she knew better. She closed her eyes briefly in relief and smiled. "Well then. Let’s go."

Kathryn piloted the shuttle into orbit. She watched the land drop away from her until the shelter was no longer visible, and then the land itself was obscured by clouds. Safely into high orbit, she held the shuttle for a moment for one last look. "Goodbye," she whispered to the planet that had been her home. The presence she had sensed before reasserted itself, and she knew that she was not alone. A smile spread across her face. "Let’s find Voyager."


	5. Chapter 5

Stardate 54687: Captain’s Quarters, USS Voyager

Kathryn was back in her quarters, sitting opposite Q. For once he wasn’t smirking or grinning. His expression was almost gentle. "Nothing to say, Kathy?

She just shook her head. The memory of the pain and grief felt by Kathryn in that timeline was still with her. It was hard to shake off.

"Did you notice," Q said, regaining some acerbity, "that she didn’t waste time trying to second guess herself? When she wasn’t sick, that is."

"Q," she started to reply, then just shook her head.

"Then it’s time for the big one," Q said, his malicious humor returning. "Where would you be today if you had not destroyed the Caretaker’s array? Where would your crew be if you hadn’t made your 'error in judgment' and been tossed to Alpha quadrant way back then?

She said slowly, "You’ve made your point. This isn’t really necessary –"

"Au contraire, sweet Kathy," he corrected. "It’s very necessary. Hold on, though. It’s going to be a bumpy ride."

Stardate 54687: Alpha Quadrant, USS Voyager

Voyager’s view screen was filled with the sight of a Cardassian cruiser tearing itself apart in flaming agony. Captain Janeway watched with a smile of grim satisfaction, then shouted, "Report!" She had to shout to be heard over the din of the repair crew, groaning wounded and alarms on the bridge.

Lt. Commander Kim shouted from Ops, "Hull breaches on decks 8 and 9- repair crews are on ‘em. Secondary systems are offline. Engineering reports 45 minutes until warp engines are functional." He was standing, she saw, with all his weight on his right leg. His left tibia poked through his uniform trousers. Good for him, she thought. He’s really coming along.

Beside her, Fosi, the Andorian first officer, said, "General Martok is hailing."

"On screen," she ordered, and immediately the Klingon fleet commander was facing her.

"Well done, Janeway," he rumbled in his deep bass. "Credit Voyager with two more Cardassian cruisers."

She leaned forward in her chair, eyes hard as slate. "Don’t forget the Jem' Hadar ship."

Tom Paris swiveled in the pilot’s chair and looked at her in surprise. She knew why. Voyager and the USS Lovell had fired on the Jem'Hadar at almost the same instant, but she was fairly certain that Voyager’s shot had missed any vital sections. On the other hand, the Lovell had been vaporized about 30 seconds later, so they weren’t going to contest her claim.

Martok laughed deeply. "And the Jem'Hadar, then. Kahless, Janeway, are you sure you aren’t part Klingon?" Then he became more serious. "How soon can you be underway?"

"Now, at full impulse," she replied. "Less than an hour to warp."

He nodded. "We’ll get started, then. Let me know when your engines are ready." The screen went dark.

A medic came up to her, but she waved her toward Kim. As was her habit after battle, she rose and went to her ready room, leaving her crew to do their jobs.

She went straight to the replicator for a cup of coffee, and caught sight of her reflection in the panel. No wonder Martok had asked if she were part Klingon; she scarcely looked Human. Her hair was finally growing back after the radiation exposure two months ago, and was not yet two inches long. It was coming in with a lot more gray than she remembered. Her right cheek was badly swollen and purple from being thrown to the deck during the battle, and thin cuts were dripping blood across her forehead and lower lip. The scar on her left cheek, a souvenir of the Klingon War, was irritated and brightly pink. Even in uniform, it was obvious her body was honed to bone and muscle, leaving her almost skeletal.

What was it Mark said when he demanded the divorce? That she was battle-hardened. She huffed once, a sound that passed for a chuckle these days. That had been three years ago – he should see her now.

Taking her coffee, she went to her desk and began monitoring the damage and the battle reports. They had been lucky with this patrol – no Breen ships, and no Breen weaponry, either.

Still, three more kills kept Voyager solidly in place as the most successful ship in the Federation fleet – unless the Defiant had a good day. The fact that two of the kills were Cardassian only made it better. Intelligence should be able to get her a roster for the two ships in a week or so. _Damn, I miss Tuvok._

The casualties weren’t too bad – 10 dead, thirty-two reported injured so far. That didn’t include deck 8, though. It would be a while longer before repair teams could access that deck. Damage to the ship was within expected parameters, nothing that couldn’t be handled in a couple of days at DS9. Then a red flag popped up on the screen, reminding her of a priority message she had received from HQ just before they engaged the enemy.

It didn’t surprise her that it was a priority message; that was the only kind getting out of HQ these days. The Breen attack a week earlier had wreaked the most havoc with communications, and nothing was transmitted now unless it was top priority. She read the message, sipping her coffee slowly, then reading it again. Then she called Ensign Paris into her office.

The helmsman was there in less than a minute. He had served with her for more than three years now, ever since his release from prison; only Kim had been with her longer. "I received a message from Starfleet Command," she said without any other greeting. "It seems that in the confusion after the attack on Earth, several prisoners escaped from the New Zealand penal colony. B’Elanna Torres was one of them."

He raised his eyebrows. "Torres? Have they caught her?"

"No." She looked at him coolly. "Someone at Intelligence remembered that you served with Torres in the Maquis, and that your prison terms overlapped. They seem to think you got to know her fairly well. They want to know if you have any ideas where she might go."

His face hardened. "They never give up, do they? I spent six months on that ship seven years ago. No, I don’t have any idea where they might have gone."

Her eyes held his. "Think harder, Mr. Paris."

He considered a moment, then shook his head. "The only hiding places I knew were all in the Badlands. Since that’s Cardassian territory now, I don’t think she’ll go there. I really don’t know what she will do."

Janeway’s mouth tugged to one side. "It occurs to me, Mr. Paris, that she might be coming after me. Klingons have long memories when it comes to revenge, and she may well blame me for Chakotay’s death."

"That wasn’t your fault," he protested. "Seska killed him. Torres was there, she saw it happen."

"Yes." Janeway closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the memory to replay itself in her mind.

She and Tuvok returned to the bridge after arming the array to send the ship back, and almost at once the ship had been thrown 75,000 light years back to the Badlands. It was a rough ride, and everyone on the bridge, including the three Maquis, was tossed about. In the brief moments of confusion when the ship righted itself, Seska grabbed a phaser and took aim at Janeway. But Chakotay had seen it, and hurled himself in front of her, taking the shot. He had fallen forward onto her, knocking her down and pinning her to the deck as he died.

"Yes,” she repeated. “She was there, on my bridge, under my protection. Just like Chakotay. It happened on my watch, Mr. Paris."

He seemed to have heard the bitterness in her voice, for his reply was quiet, almost comforting. "Chakotay made a choice. He chose to save your life rather than let Seska kill you."

"I’ve never understood why," she said softly, almost to herself. It was the most personal statement she had made to another officer in years. Then she seemed to rouse herself, and she looked at Paris intently for several seconds, long enough to make him squirm with discomfort. Finally she stood and went to the view port to stare out at space. "Have you heard from your friend Brian Wilson lately?"

She didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he had suddenly gone tense, and that the color had drained from his face. "Not lately," he said carefully. "I didn’t know you monitored my correspondence."

"Tuvok brought this particular correspondent to my attention about three years ago," she said. "After he was killed, I wiped all the records of his investigation."

"Why?" he asked bluntly, looking surprised.

"It doesn’t matter," she said, still looking away. "The next time you are in touch with this Brian Wilson, I’d like you to pass along a message. Seska is no longer on Cardassia Prime. She’s on Archillus, helping the Vorta develop a counter-insurgency program. She has apparently decided to back the Breen." She paused and her face hardened. "Tell your friend that if she’s going after Seska, she’s got an ally."

Paris stood quietly, staring at her thoughtfully. "I knew you despised Seska. I didn’t know you hated her this much."

She turned. "Oh, yes, Mr. Paris. This much. And I’ll tell you why, because I know your friend may doubt my sincerity. It began when she killed Chakotay on my bridge. I’d seen death before, Mr. Paris, and been with comrades as they died, but this was the first time I ever _felt_ someone die. I knew the instant that his life ended, because I felt it when whatever it is that animates human flesh was finished.”

Trapped under Chakotay’s dying body, she watched his eyes become suddenly fixed and glazed, and in that same instant had felt something, some kind of energy perhaps, radiate out of him and through her as it expanded into the universe. It rippled and waved, and it managed to simultaneously convey surprise, regret and unbounded joy in the same instant. For years she had researched the phenomenon, desperately trying to find some explanation in science for what she had experienced. In the end, she was forced to conclude that she, who believed in the order and rationality of science, had felt the departure of a soul. It still troubled her.

“I can’t explain it better than that,” she continued. “There are still nights when I wake up in a cold sweat, remembering.

"But it’s not just because Seska killed a good and honorable man – and yes, Chakotay was both those things despite his crimes – but she got away with it. When she revealed herself as a member of the Obsidian Order and claimed diplomatic immunity, I could have killed her with my bare hands."

She felt the coldness of her anger begin to seep into her blood, as it usually did when she thought about Seska. Her voice remained steady but her eyes burned like blue ice. "Let us say that since then, there has been no love lost between us. During the Klingon War, when we were protecting Cardassia" – her tone dripped with irony – "Seska was often a source of information for Starfleet Intelligence. It was her intelligence that prompted Starfleet to send a task force to the Armellian Colony."

His eyes opened slightly. "That was an ambush."

"Five starships lost," Janeway agreed. She looked at him appraisingly. "You came on board right before the Giarkis campaign, didn’t you?" He nodded. "Credit Seska for that, too. It was her recommendation to the Cardassian fleet that Voyager specifically participate in that task force. I don’t have to remind you of that experience, I’m sure."

No, she didn’t. His expression made it clear that he recalled the months of hell they had endured. Voyager had been one of the only two ships to survive that campaign with less than 80% casualties.

She smiled coldly. "Oh, I’ve gotten my licks in here and there. Let’s just say that Seska’s plans for promotion haven’t materialized as she expected." Then the smile vanished altogether. "But then Starfleet sent Tuvok to Rinalli 3 based on information from Seska." Grimly, she added, "She didn’t make a mistake in analyzing the Intelligence data. I believe Seska intended Tuvok to be killed. She knew he was tracking her too closely." She paused, remembering clearly the message she had received from Cardassia Prime advising her of Tuvok’s death. It had been the last time she felt grief.

Finally, she looked at Paris speculatively. "Do you think that will convince your friend that I mean what I say?"

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "If I hear from Brian, I’ll pass the message along."

"Good," she said. "And just in case B’Elanna isn’t convinced, tell her this – she’s better off having me as an ally than an enemy."

Paris nodded slowly. "I believe that, sir."

"Dismissed," she said, and returned to her desk. As the door to the ready room closed behind him, she resumed her study of the damage reports. Six dead on deck 8. Still within expected losses. It had been a good days’ work.

Stardate 54687: Captain’s Quarters, USS Voyager

It was over. She was again in her own quarters, on the sofa. Q regarded her with a coy smile. "Captain Kate, scourge of Cardassia. Although I like your hair longer, I think. Are you ever sorry you cut it?"

"That wasn’t me," she protested. "There was nothing about that woman that was me."

He just looked at her skeptically. "OF course she was you, Kathryn. She is still you, just waiting for the right chance to appear."

There was nothing about that timeline that was remotely acceptable, she thought. Chakotay and Tuvok dead, B’Elanna a fugitive; Tom abetting her in possible treason. The Doctor never activated. Neelix and Kes never on board, Seven never recovered from the Borg. And that Kathryn, consumed by hatred and blind to suffering, driven by a need for revenge. No, that was not acceptable.

She cocked her head at Q. "So. All is for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Thank you, Dr. Pangloss. Voltaire would be spinning in his grave."

"Voltaire was a pompous ass," he said with such fervor that she suspected he spoke from personal experience. "But," he continued reluctantly, "he may have had a point. This is the best of all possible worlds for you, because it is the only one you’ve got."

"If you’re trying to cheer me up," she said dryly, "you’re missing the mark."

"Humans," he said, sounding disgusted. "If you don’t like the way things are going, you assume that different choices would have led to a better result. Different is not the same as better, Kathy. It is only different. You make your own endings."

And then he was gone, and she was alone in her quarters. It was still 0133. The spirits have done it all in one night, she couldn’t help thinking. Oh, well. It’s time to at least try to sleep.

She moved toward her bed, then stopped in sudden confusion. Had she been dreaming? Odd fragments of memory ran threw her mind. It was as if she had been talking to someone…she must have fallen asleep trying to read. She’d always told Gena that the classics were the best insomnia remedy she knew. With a shake of her head, she climbed into bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Epilogue: USS Voyager, the next morning

The sense that she was being watched was strong, and she looked up from the padd to find Chakotay staring at her with a quizzical expression. "Commander?"

They were in her ready room, she at her desk and he seated opposite her. He did not seem the least flustered to have been caught studying her. "You look more rested today."

"I did sleep well, once I fell asleep." She set the padd down; the reports held nothing new. They were well stocked in some areas but not in others; without Starfleet supply lines, they were constantly trying to anticipate the next critical shortage. "We need to think about some new ways to find potential sources of supplies, whether it's a planet with potential for trade or seeking out raw materials. What would you think of some long-range shuttle missions?"

For some reason, the suggestion made him smile. "It's worth considering."

"I'm glad it amuses you."

"It's not that – it's just that, well, it's the first time in a long time that you've made a suggestion like that without flogging yourself first."

"Flogging myself?" Her eyebrows shot up.

"At least finding a way to blame yourself for whatever is wrong before suggesting how to fix it." His smile hadn't faded. "It was getting tiresome."

For a moment she sat still. She really couldn't argue with him, she realized; for months she had felt that any problem they encountered was ultimately her fault, because the responsibility for being in the Delta quadrant rested solely with her. Somehow, though, she felt different this morning. They had a problem, but that's all it was: a problem. It didn't require fixing blame.

"Tiresome and flogging. There aren't many first officers who would dare to use those words with their captain. You're a brave man, Chakotay." She couldn't quite hold back her own smile.

“Yes, ma'am. As long as I'm out on this limb, I may as well keep sawing. Would you like to join me for a game of velocity this afternoon? I have a holodeck reservation for 1730 hours. Unless you're too rusty, of course. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

She almost choked with laughter. "Oh, you're on. Just because you and I haven't played for a while doesn't mean I'm out of practice. I've been playing with Seven, and you, sir, are the proverbial toast. And remember, you're the one who brought up flogging." He grinned back at her, and for a moment she simply enjoyed it. It had been too long since they simply relaxed and enjoyed each other's company.

Then she rose. "Come on, let's go see what Neelix has for lunch. We can talk about the shuttle idea."

She really did feel better. Funny what a good night's sleep can do.

**Author's Note:**

> The episode Night bothered me, not only for dancing around the legitimate issue of depression but also for allowing Captain Janeway to wallow in a guilt trip. I wanted Kathryn to realize what Q tells her at the end - different decisions don't mean better outcomes, just different outcomes. We make our own happy endings. The inspiration for the title is Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken."


End file.
